


Why Do You Hate Yourself So Loudly?

by CoffeeandKlance_AU



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Again, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, M/M, Oneshot, lancebeinggoodenough, lanceisdoubtinghimself, lanceismycomfortcharactersorry, softAngst, willbeahappyending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeandKlance_AU/pseuds/CoffeeandKlance_AU
Summary: It's 2:16 in the morning and Lance can't stop the intrusive thoughts in his head. He expects to stay up all night, until he hears a soft knock on the other side of his door.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 169





	Why Do You Hate Yourself So Loudly?

**Author's Note:**

> Content: Soft angst, Fluff, Established Relationship  
> Also, as a favour, if anyone can see the stars where they live, can you spare a moment to look at them for me? It's been a long day and clouds are blocking the stars here. Thank you.

_What could I have done differently?_

Lance clutched at his blanket. He squeezed his eyes shut. Everyone had shut their doors and called it a night hours ago, but the days events kept racing through Lance's mind. Every detail was analysed, critiqued, and looked over for mistakes. And there were so, so many. 

The day hadn't started off great. Lance got up late, which might not have been so bad except that Allura had told everyone there was an urgent meeting they all needed to be ready for at 7am sharp. And Lance had showed up ten minutes late, shirt backwards, and one pair of shoelaces untied. His heart hammered when he entered the dining room. Everyone had looked up from the table where plans were laid out, and though none of them said it, Lance knew. He always knew. He could see the slight corner of Allura's mouth turn down. He could see it in the way Hunk gave a pity glance, how Keith crossed his arms, and how Shiro pursed his lips. Pidge had raised an eyebrow, and Coran had cleared his throat to continue the meeting. 

But Lance knew. He heard the words that danced on the ends of their tongues.

_"Why can't you ever be on time?"_

_"Are you ever going to take this seriously?"_

_"How did we end up with such a lazy Paladin?"_

_"We're better off without him."_

Ouch. The last one sent a jolt up his spine, and Lance buried his face in his pillow. He willed the thoughts to go away. With every fiber of his being, he wished they would stop. He just wanted to sleep. He already knew. But the memories rushed; an unforgiving tide that nit-picked one scenario after another. Lance's fingers started to hurt from his tight grip. His eyes stung and his nose burned. 

After the meeting, Lance had escaped without anyone mentioning his tardiness. He raced to the nearest bathroom, turned around his shirt, fixed his hair again, and smiled. A tacky, wide, plastic smile that showed his teeth and hurt his cheeks.

The next screw up happened almost an hour later. Not even lunch yet. He had been walking down the hall, wondering if Coran might go over the plans with him again so he wouldn't get it wrong, when he turned the corner and crushed Pidge's new experiment. 

"Lance!"

He hopped off the small contraption. It looked like a small bug, with six thin metal legs - now broken off - and a circular disk body that cracked in the middle. Lance knelt down to see if he could fix it, but Pidge smacked his hands away and scooped up her project. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't see it when I -"

"You didn't hear the beeping?"

"The what?" Lance didn't hear anything when he rounded the corner. At least, he didn't think he did. He might have been too lost in his thoughts.

"What, are you deaf and stupid? I put a beeping signal on it while testing so I'd know where to find it if it got lost," Pidge said. She carefully nudged the circular disk, and the broken halves separated. "It took me forever to make a body for this that could fit the weight and size requirement."

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. Guilt nagged, an ugly beast that made it's presence known since this mornings meeting.

"Pidge, i'm really sorry for messing it up. I could try to help you make a new one." He didn't know what the experiment was for, or had any idea where to start, but he would try his best if she agreed.

"I would rather do it alone," Pidge sighed, and took up the rest of the bug and the computer on the floor before making an exit.

Lance had stared at the door Pidge disappeared behind, heart sinking. 

The memory faded. Lance sat up in his bed and raked a shaky hand through his hair. Tears burned the corners of his eyes. 

"Stop," he whispered to himself. "I need to stop. I need to sleep." 

_Pidge had said she wanted to do it alone. She probably meant she would rather work with anyone but you. Naturally dumb, remember?_

The thought felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Lance pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. What was he doing? Sitting here, crying, acting pathetic. He was supposed to be strong. Level-headed. A dependable and responsible part of the Voltron team. He couldn't do that if he kept messing up though, and that's exactly what he did. 

Lance had waited until late afternoon to get lunch. He hoped no one was in the kitchen, but the moment he stepped in, his best friend greeted him with a smile. 

"Hey Hunk." At the time, he was just glad Pidge nor Allura was in here with them. "Whatcha making?"

"I'm trying this new recipe. Getting kind of boring around here, eating the same stuff all the time." Hunk leaned down to grab something from a lower cabinet. He came back up with a bowl and another apron. Lance did not want to ask where he got it from. "Care to help?" 

Lance's shoulders relaxed a little bit. Hunk was his best friend, and they were just baking. 

"These are going to be the best quiznaking cookies - things? - that's ever going to be made."

Hunk had laughed. For a while, everything was fine. They talked, made jokes, threw questionable ingredients at each other, and successfully created a batch of green, small circle goops. Best thing they were going to get onboard. Hunk had done all the mixing and ingredient weighing. Lance's only job was to prep the baking sheet and put the stuff in the oven. No one could mess that up, right?

It happened during the baking process. Lance and Hunk hadn't noticed anything wrong at first, until the light inside flickered and smoke filled the air. Lance had panicked, and Hunk did his best to take out the pan without burning himself. 

"What was that?" Lance had asked. 

But the answer made itself clear when Hunk peered back in the smoking oven and found dark, tar-covered green goop on the bottom of the oven. 

"Did you put on the baking wax paper like I told you?" But before Lance could answer, Hunk had picked up the corner of the baking sheet and seen that Lance had not _exactly_ done what he said. Instead of wax paper, paper towels laid under the goo.

Lance's stomach knotted. The paper towels had been set near the wax paper because he needed to clean a spill he made on the floor. How had he managed to mess up the one job he had? Put on wax paper, put it in the oven. Simple. So why didn't he do it?

"Buddy, i'm sorry, I thought I used the wax, it was right next to the paper towels. I mixed them up by accident."

"It's alright." But Hunk wasn't looking at him. "It's not a problem." 

Lance felt like it was. "Do you want to try again?"

Half the goo that had been on the tray was either half baked or lying in the bottom of the oven from falling through the paper towels. 

"We could, but we don't have enough ingredients for a second batch," Hunk said. "Next time we get some though, we can."

Lance wasn't sure if he wanted to. If he managed to screw it up this time, he would most certainly do it again. 

Lance pinched the edge of his nose. The action brought him back to current reality, where he still leaned against his headboard, pillow tucked between his chest and knees, and the bottom lip hurt from being chewed on. 

"Paper towels. I put paper towels -" His voice cracked. He shoved his face into his pillow and let out a dry sob. 

_I can't even make goo cookies right._

And Hunk, the ever sensitive and unconfrontational one, let it go. Lance knew Hunk forgave him, but still. He could have paid more attention. If he wasn't such an airhead all the time, he could get things done the first time. And not just with the mundane, off day tasks. If Lance could be a better human being in general, may the team would be a lot farther than it is now. He's the fifth wheel. He didn't _need_ to be here. What has he given the team so far? Headaches? Another problem to worry about? A unreliable teammate who can't hold their own in battle?

_It would be better for everyone if I went home_ , he thought. What good was he doing there, with nothing to offer? Especially after the incident with Hunk, when Lance had sulked out of the kitchen and ran into Shiro -

"No, stop," Lance told himself again. He sniffed, curled in tighter to himself. Thoughts flashed, and his gut twisted. He wanted to go home.

A soft knock echoed through the small room. 

Lance blinked. He titled his head up and looked at the door. Did he imagine it?

"Hey," a hushed voice from the other side. "Hey, Lance? Are you awake?"

_Go away,_ Lance wanted to say. But if he did, then the person on the other side would know he's awake. 

"Lance, dude, let me in. I know you're awake." 

The Cuban boy sighed. He debated a second more, but in the end he flung his covers to the side and made his way to the door, where his boyfriend stood outside.

"Keith? What are you doing here so late?" Lance asked, but let him inside either way. 

After Lance closed the door, Keith offered him a small smile - a painfully awkward, lopsided one - and took a hold of his hand to lead him towards the bed. "You were upset at dinner and all throughout training with me."

Right. Lance's memories hadn't gotten that far yet. Keith had suggested they train a while after dinner, and Lance accepted. But all throughout the practice, Lance kept tripping over his own feet. To Keith, it was more like a teaching session than a training one. He kept having to move Lance's stance, and slow down his movements. The only blow Lance managed to get had been an accident. The training session was already over, and a charley horse started cramping Lance's foot. In the hallway, Lance had suddenly stopped and bent over to massage it out. Because Keith didn't know he would stop so quick, he tried to move out of the way real quick before he toppled over him. When Keith had put his hand on Lance's waist to steady himself, Lance had jumped and elbowed him in the ribs. 

"Are your ribs okay?" Lance let himself be dragged over to the bed, where Keith lifted the blanket, settled in, and patted his chest. 

"My ribs are just fine. It didn't hurt that much anyway." 

They settled into bed together, Keith's heartbeat under Lance's ear. Keith tucked in the blanket around Lance, and ran his fingers through his soft brown hair. 

After a few seconds of silence, with Lance tracing random patterns on his boyfriend's shirt, Keith asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Lance didn't know. The intrusive thoughts were still there. They always were, and even though Keith was able to get him level-headed most times, they never completely went away. The continuous questioning of whether he was good enough. How he would be a better person if he could do things differently. If he wasn't so loud, would it be better? If he didn't make so many jokes and overshare, would he be more respected? Seen as mature?

"We don't have to," Keith curled one of Lance's bangs around his ear and traced it back up. "Sometimes talking about it helps clear up the mess in there." He tapped his forehead. "That's what it is, right?"

Lance pouted. The tears had subsided, but the heaviness in his limbs remained. His thoughts played in the back ground, waiting for a chance to take the stage again. "You knew just from training with me?"

"Well," Keith shrugged. "I mean, no? Kind of? I knew there was something bothering you, I just didn't want to ask when everyone was still up."

"So you waited until two in the morning?"

"I...yeah? Yeah. I did."

"You fell asleep, didn't you?"

"For two hours. I meant to come at midnight, okay?" Keith huffed. "But stop changing the subject. We're not here to talk about me. You're upset. And I want to do whatever it is that will help make you feel better. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll lay here until morning without saying anything. If you do, i'll listen."

Lance's heart swelled at the suggestions, but the decision was daunting. He wanted to talk about it. He did. But the fear off oversharing, of giving away too much and making Keith annoyed stopped him. Would he tell him that he's being overdramatic? That his feelings shouldn't be at the forefront of his mind with everything else going on? 

_No._ Lance frowned. Keith wouldn't do that. He would listen, like he said. He would care. 

"I'm just...overthinking, again," Lance decided quietly. "About my impact on the team. My part in all of this."

"You're an essential part of the team, and you're helping us save the Galaxy. What is there to it?" Keith asked. Not in a condescending tone, but a genuinely curious one. "There would be no Voltron without you, Lance."

"I'm not -" _good enough_ " - fit to be part of the team. I don't have anything to give. Pidge is extremely smart. Shiro is a natural leader. Hunk is a great fighter and perceptive. And you give your everything in combat and a prodigy pilot." Lance's breath trembled. He stopped tracing patterns on Keith's shirt. The overwhelming urge to do something - cry, scream, sob, _anything_ hit him all over again. "What am I? A goofball. Someone who can't focus. I drag everyone behind."

"That is far from the truth," Keith said. "Besides the goofball part. You are kind of weird sometimes." Lance smacked him in the stomach, and he laughed. "No, but really, Lance, if these are what the voices are telling you, if this is what you're thinking you are...then you're lying to yourself. You are nothing short of being an necessary Paladin. No one else can take your place."

Lance tried to muster a smile, even if Keith couldn't see it. "You're just saying that."

"It's true. And you don't realize it because you've been lying to yourself. Do you realize how loudly you hate yourself?"

"How _loudly_ I hate myself?" Lance turned his head then, resting his chin near Keith's collarbone to look up. Even in the dark room, a dim light still managed to sparkle in Keith's eyes. 

"Yes, Lance. You hate yourself so loudly. You hate yourself at the top of your lungs, and scream it from the rooftops in your head. The hate you have for yourself is laced in every word you say. In every sorry you excuse yourself in - I don't know how many times I've heard you say "Sorry, i'm just rambling" or "Sorry, I screwed up again". You always think you have something to be sorry for. You act like you have to say it at every opportunity; like you have to beat everyone else to the punch. Like the punching bag is you. It's like you think, "If I hate myself first, if I hate myself the loudest, then it won't hurt". And then you hide in here, and ball yourself up so you don't have to face anyone else's loathing but your own." Keith brushed a thumb on Lance's cheek. The Cuban boy's mouth wavered, his eyes refusing to meet his more than a few seconds at a time. "But you know what that also means, Lance?"

With a barely-there voice, Lance asked, "What?"

"It means you've never heard our love. You drown it out. You scream your hatred over it. Love isn't aggressive - it does not shout at you. It doesn't raise it's voice. Even if someone did tell you they loved you - shouted it from across the room, you see the love in the way they look at you, in the way someone lends a helping hand, or someone asks you how you're doing. You see love in the way someone gives you food because they're worried your hungry or the way someone gives you a gift they spent time searching for or making," Keith said. He entwined their hands, and kissed one of Lances knuckles. "I know you're thoughts are not going to leave right away. It will take time, but I hope one day you can start letting the love in more than the hate. We all want you here, Lance, despite what you tell yourself."

Lance sucked in a breath. Tears wobbled on the edge on his vision, but they hadn't fallen yet. He was very aware of the hand holding his, and the way that Keith laid there patiently, waiting for a reply. Waiting for him to maybe not say anything at all, and lay his head back down. Whatever Lance chose to do, Keith would let him. Because he loved him. 

_And so did his teammates_. The thought felt weird. Foreign. Sure, there had been times where Lance felt more a part of the team than others, but there was still an invisible barrier in his mind that kept him from being with them. A line he couldn't cross, because he told himself he wasn't good enough yet.

But he was. Despite the thoughts, despite the everyday struggles, he was. Keith told him he was. And even if he didn't, he showed him everyday how much Lance was just as a part of the team as the others. 

Lance smiled. He tried his best, but a wet patch still formed on Keith's shirt when he laid his head back down on Keith's chest and held his hand a little tighter. 

"Thank you," The blue paladin whispered. It would take time and patience to get himself started on the right track, of trying to accept himself as good enough, but it would be worth it in the end.

Because he, as much as everyone else in the universe, deserves love and acceptance.


End file.
